


bloom through the cracks

by contemplativepancakes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels are Dicks (Supernatural), Castiel (Supernatural)-centric, Gen, Heaven, precanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 07:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20756267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contemplativepancakes/pseuds/contemplativepancakes
Summary: “Castiel,” Naomi tsked, staring down her nose at him in her sterile white office, “Why can you never just make things easy for yourself?”Castiel's slow descent into rebellion against everything he ever knew





	bloom through the cracks

**Author's Note:**

> (this is a reworked version of turning tides- I made many word choice changes and added a bit more. I am much more satisfied with it!)

A commotion broke out on the ground, and Castiel imagined he could taste the particles of dirt flying up to meet him in the clouds. He had been tracking the Babylonians’ progress curiously over the past few weeks as they had built their tower, but now he watched as the building seemed to give up on itself, crumbling and collapsing to the ground. Castiel could feel the sky begin to tremble, and he looked on with passive eyes as God punished man for his impudence to ever dare to build something so high into His domain.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, as a fragile Moses floated down the river in his basket, Castiel found himself ensnared by the child. He looked on in alarm as an alligator emerged from the river, water cascading off of its glistening back, to lock its eyes on the basket. Castiel gave Moses’s tiny vessel a nudge and breathed out a very human sigh of relief when the creature lost interest. He kept other predators at bay until finally a young woman picked up the basket, and he could relax in his hypervigilance. He could feel a tendril of _something_ blooming in him as he looked on while Moses grew up into a courageous young man. Castiel watched with pride as Moses led his people to freedom, but he couldn’t help but feel sorrow for all the innocent people who had to die just because the pharaoh was a tyrant. It didn’t seem right, but God’s plan wasn’t for him to question.

The next time Castiel had a chance to look back down at the earth and all of its humans, he watched David as he stared up at Goliath. Castiel dug through the boy’s mind and what he found made his form twist uncomfortably. This human was so brave- righteous, even, but he was going to be struck down. Castiel lent David his strength, for just a minute. It was enough.

Castiel flickered and churned nervously while he steadied Abraham as he climbed up the mountain where God had commanded him to sacrifice his son, Isaac. 

As God wills it, it shall be done.

But Castiel wasn’t so sure. 

How was it right to make this man who had fervently prayed for a son do this? Castiel watched as Abraham’s knife quivered above Isaac’s heart. He could see tears forming in the old man’s eyes, and Castiel felt a wrench of sympathy for him. He was the patron of the downtrodden, after all, and Abraham was certainly at his lowest right now. “Abraham! Abraham!” he called, his voice tumbling out discordantly after so many years of silence.

Abraham looked up to the sky, whirling around wildly as the knife shook in his hand.

“Do not lay a hand on the boy. Do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God because you have not withheld from me your only son,” Castiel said, thinking quickly, “The Lord declares that because you have done this, I will bless you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and the sand on the seashore. Your descendants will take possession of the cities of their enemies, and through your offspring all nations on earth will be blessed because you have obeyed the Lord, your God.”

Castiel focused his energy on Abraham and Isaac. He imbued enough of himself in them to give good will that would last for several generations. They sacrificed a ram in their gratefulness, but Castiel was too busy being dragged back to heaven to notice.

An angel strapped him down to a chair, and Castiel screamed as they slashed into his grace. He tried to close himself off to the visceral sounds, but he couldn’t block it out. He seemed to have conjured a heartbeat, and he could feel it pulsing, his grace thrumming through him in protest to the abuse. He lost track of the days as he sat in that dreadful straight-backed chair, struggling against his bonds. The room became a revolving door for his torturer until _finally _everything blissfully faded to black.

He was confined to heaven for a time. When he asked about what was happening on earth, he was met with blank stares. Castiel could feel the other angel’s eyes on him as he walked about each day trying to stave off his boredom. They all seemed to be in either fear or awe. The reason was niggling in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite seem to recall it.

When Castiel was finally allowed back down to earth, he was assigned to look over Esther, who was a lowly orphan when he first met her. He watched her each day, doing his best to shield her from harassment, but he feared she still suffered too much. 

He slowly realized why he was sent to Esther as her life hurtled past, leading her to become a queen. He was by her side as the command was given for all Jews in the city to be killed. She hurried back to her chambers and flung herself on the bed, tears pricking her eyes. He felt her agony, her fear, as she waited for it to be revealed that she herself was Jewish. Castiel figured that God couldn’t want His people to die, so Castiel appeared to her in a dream to help her make a plan. When she woke up, she went to her king and threw herself at his feet, crying that someone was trying to kill her. Her husband was suitably shocked and reviled. He demanded who, and Esther explained and convinced him to not go forward with the massacre. He agreed, and both Castiel and Esther let out a sigh of relief.

“Castiel,” Naomi tsked, staring down her nose at him in her sterile white office, “Why can you never just make things easy for yourself?”

This pattern continued for what seemed like forever. Castiel tried his best to be obedient, and he always was for a short time, but it pained him to watch the humans he had grown so fond of needlessly suffering just so a point could be proven. What was the point of watching over humanity if he was never allowed to intervene? The other angels could call him what they liked, but he was never one to stand idly by.

After purgatory came the worst retribution Castiel could remember, but he supposed declaring himself the new God will do that. Naomi stood over him, carving away at him relentlessly. His form dripped ichor, and inhuman screams were dragged from him. He lost track of all the days that passed like that, yearning for someone to hear his cries who didn’t delight in the sound. When he was let out of the chair for the first time, it was to kill Dean Winchester. Naomi tugged him along to a large room and left him there, looking around for direction. Dean appeared, and he received it. “Kill him!” Naomi demanded.

Castiel’s angel blade slid out of his sleeve, but his hand wouldn’t cooperate with what Naomi was commanding. She dragged him back to the chair again and again, until finally Castiel could manage to pierce Dean’s heart. The first time it happened, he stumbled off to the side and dry heaved, tears pooling in his eyes. Of course, that wasn’t good enough for Naomi, and she led him by the hand back to her torture room. Castiel was too out of it to resist, and eventually he killed Dean without any hesitation, barely any recognition at all in his eyes.

All of Naomi’s training trickled away when Dean croaked, “I need you,” tugging at the bottom of his trench coat in that decrepit crypt. Castiel came back to himself, registering Dean’s bloody face and his own throbbing knuckles. Castiel dropped his blade, but it was the status quo that shattered into pieces. He picked up the angel tablet and disappeared, his mind in a whirl. Heaven was after him, but he wouldn’t be dragged back ever again.

Dean laughs wildly, beaming at Castiel, and Castiel can’t help but return the smile. He has always known there was a crack in his chassis, even before Naomi spat the fact at him. But looking at Dean gazing up at him from where he’s slumped on Castiel’s chest, he feels like something beautiful might have wormed its way inside of him and blossomed through the holes.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought! and thank you for reading :D


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